


Everything Will Be Alright, I Promise

by all_the_angels



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Concerts, Flashbacks, M/M, Oneshot, Partial Angst, Peterick, i guess, joe and andy are hardly in here yikes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 12:38:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10101140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/all_the_angels/pseuds/all_the_angels
Summary: No matter how hard he pressed his mind, he could not remember where he was or how he got there. Or anything, really. Except . . .Pete.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Somebody fucking kill me, I hate my family so much.   
> Alright. So this was some realllllllly random idea that came to me out of nowhere and ... yeah. I apologize for any mistakes, I am not a good writer by any standards. And I have no clue when any of this takes place, so...

\---

Being on stage. 

The feeling could easily compare to being on top of the world. The highest point, above everything else, looking down upon it with the most amazing feeling; everyone was looking up, at you. Hands were swaying in motion to the music blasting, radiating from behind you. Voices jumbled together, some singing along, others exclaiming excitement and shrieks of enjoyment and exhilaration. Jumping, sweaty bodies, all moving together in unison and all here for only one reason.

To watch them perform.

The speakers behind him were so extraordinarily deafening that they vibrated the sturdy stage, resounded around the entire venue, could be heard and felt for miles. His voice was being amplified by the microphone throughout the crowd, strong and powerful enough to reverberate each individual of the masses, and the four bandmates on stage.

The lyrics had been sung countless times before, at plenty of other concerts and numerous times when they were no more than mere ideas, before the songs themselves had even existed yet. But no matter how many times the same words were sung, the guitars strung, the drums banged, it felt new every single time. A certain elation that could not be matched, new but known, carved in their heart. Each song held memories of their history, the good and the bad, those known to the public and those private to the souls on stage alone. 

To hear their words sung to the packed crowd, to watch as hundreds upon thousands of people admired and sang along with them, to be the one on top of the world if only for a few hours . . . it was the best feeling ever.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Joe swinging wildly along to the lyrics, the frantic, fast-paced beat, spinning closer and closer to wear Andy's drum kit was set up behind them. It did not take him seeing as a witness to know that the guitarist and drummer shared an intimate glance between each other, never missing a step in the song. 

With the slightest shift of his guitar and a miniscule turn of his head that most of the crowd would mistake for a quick dance move, he could see Pete, hopping around the stage like he was a literal ball of unused, unspent energy. And, as if knowing he would be looking in that one second, Pete turned and his face lit up in the brightest, most cheerful smile. It rivaled the stage lights that flicked back and forth like a snakes tongue, and the glint that shone visibly from several feet away was not missed. 

Patrick returned the exact look and turned back to the crowd so as not to miss the final chorus of the song, to not let Pete's grin leave him speechless as it did often, more than he cared to admit. Even not facing the bassist, he could still envision that toothy smile, the way Pete's eyes crinkled adorably . . . 

The song now over, Patrick excused himself from the microphone stand temporarily, retreating to the platform which held Andy and his drums, along with a wall of all opened, nearly completely drained water bottles. When setting up, Pete and Joe had personally opened each one and drank half of each, for no reason other than a cure for boredom. While Patrick, Andy, and the managers rushed around to prepare everything, to make sure nothing went wrong and everything ended smoothly.

He nimbly twisted the cap open on the bottle closest to him, taking a long, well-deserved sip before stepping briskly back to his position, staring over the huge group of people on the ground below the stage. The bright lights and lack of glasses made it impossible to see past the first few rows of concert attendees, but he knew they were there. So many people, and all of them had come out just to watch Fall Out Boy perform. Oh, how different it had become since their first concert, when hardly a single person knew them or the songs they played. And slowly, as the years progressed, they became more and more known. Their name could be found in magazines and in interviews, their songs played on the radio, they began to have actual fans who not only knew them but knew their music, too. And over the years, what had started as a simple garage band who played for as many people as could fit in a single room, turned into worldwide tours and sold out venues. 

It was an accomplishment, to say in the least.

And suddenly, before the next song could begin, Pete was by Patrick's side, hovering closely. Tossing him a goofy grin, Pete scooted closer to the singer, biting his lips playfully when he knew he got Patrick's attention. 

Without thinking deeply, Patrick leaned closer on instinct and shivered with delight when Pete's lips landed on his, tingled for a split second. He broke away quickly, when the urge of music called, but their eyes remained locked as Pete bounced back to his original position, both smiling like maniacs. The crowd was going crazy from the sign of affection between the two lovers, but it was no secret about their relationship. 

Patrick finally faced forward again, to the lively gathering, knowing that it showed on his face the true feeling he held for Pete. 

He was so happy. This had been his dream, to play music for other people, to create something that others could relate to in an unexplainable way. And this was his life, in a band with his three best friends, with his boyfriend. He was so happy, he felt that he was going to explode.

A quick blink changed everything. His eye had barely even closed, hardly even brushed the lids, but yet, when he reopened them a millisecond later, things had changed.

The crowd was replaced by an abandoned, vacant front yard. The flashing, overhead stage lights were replaced by a deep, dark night sky. There were no cheers, no screams or excited screeches, but instead the world was unnaturally quiet. Only the sound of a light rain, a thick drizzle on the porch roof filled his ears. The dim light coming from the closed screen door behind him did little to dispel the shadows of the night.

Instead of grasping tightly to the mic stand, Patrick was holding onto the wood of a post holding the front porch up, gripping it just as hard, if not more so. 

With a gulp, Patrick pushed off the porch and walked slowly down the small concrete steps and onto the cold pathway that led to a picket fence, past that to the sidewalk. He became aware of something draped over his shoulders, his bare feet, and a chill to the air. He was without shoes and a long black coat, too large, enveloped him and kept him mostly dry, dragging along the wet concrete. Unmistakable tears pricked the back of his eyes as he strode forward slowly, though he wasn't quite sure why.

His heart was empty.

His heart was sad.

His heart was positively broken.

Only one sentence filled his mind, otherwise it would have been completely blank. Empty. Void of all thought and questions as to why he was standing outside of the house, where the crowd had gone, where his friends were. Only that one sentence. 

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, though the rain had already done so. He opened his mouth to say something to the empty yard before him, something over the distant thunder rumbling, but the sound caught in his throat. He had to fight back a gasp and the sudden release of salty liquid from his eyes.

"Baby, come home," he said quietly, coming to a stop near the closed, short gate. "Oh, baby, please come home."

He fell to his knees, unable to stay standing for any longer. The coat pooled around him, a black waterfall of fabric ignored. 

Pete. Pete wasn't there. He wasn't there. He hadn't come home that night. There hadn't been any sort of call from the older man, letting him know he would be a little later for the reasons of having to catch up on paperwork or finish whatever project he was working on. He was busy, Patrick knew that, but never so much so where he wouldn't reply to Patrick's texts, answers his calls, where he wouldn't even give notice to the worried singer waiting for him. 

Pete. Wasn't. There.

"Baby," Patrick's voice cracked as he broke into an uncontrollable sob, "Baby, come home. Please. Please, Pete."

He swiped at his eyes, oblivious to the drops of water clinging to his uncovered hair, dripping soundlessly off his shoulders. And when the trail of tears had been pushed away they were only to be followed by a fresh stream. Unable to hold it back, Patrick gasped and buried his head in his hands, shaking violently from the sudden cold and racked with helpless cries.

And then . . . all of a sudden, the rain and the yard and the night was gone. Instead, the world around him was a winter wonderland, but not in a gorgeous, awe-inspiring way. The ground was covered by at least four inches of snow, so thick and freezing cold that he could feel it through his boots.

He was standing beside the old white van, which was parked on the side of the road, having slid off into a snowdrift when they took a miscalculated turn. Standing beside him, rubbing his arms frantically and huffing hard, but wearing a shit-eating grin, was Pete. Pete, shivering just as hard, if not more so through his jacket even thinner than Patrick's.

"Well, this was unexpected, wasn't it, Pattycakes?" he nudged the young singer with his elbow, chuckling when Patrick frowned even deeper than before and moved away from the touch. "Isn't this a fun, exciting adventure?"

"I would enjoy it more if we were inside the van, not standing out in the middle of god knows where, getting hypothermia," Patrick grumbled, lowering his chin into the tightly wrapped scarf around his neck. "This fucking weather is going to kill us if we stay out any longer."

Pete chuckled in good spirit, not sharing Patrick's distaste for the wintery, freezing weather and unforeseen events that landed them in this position. "Aw, it isn't that cold out here!"

"Correction: it's as cold out here as it's hot in hell," Patrick said venomously, cursing under his breath, something Pete couldn't pick up on. "And we're all going to die if we don't get the van back up and running again."

Pete frowned, noticing, for the first time, that Patrick was legitimately shivering and struggling to stay warm. He was shaking so hard, his teeth were chattering, and his trembling was threatening to cause his glasses to fall. Without second thought - because, seriously, when did Pete ever double-think something? - he stepped forward and embraced the slightly shorter, younger man, covering him with his arms. 

Although Patrick's instant reaction was to melt into the hold, he jerked back in surprise. Pete held firmly though, pulling him closer so that he had no option but to be squished against the sturdy, warm man.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Patrick asked through clattering teeth.

Flashing his signature, sure-to-make-a-horde-of-fan-girls-swoon smile, Pete couldn't resist a heartfelt chuckle. "Keeping you warm, 'Trick. Can't have our lead singer catching a cold before our next concert, can we?"

And finally, after what seemed like forever, Patrick become less tense. He almost sighed when he could feel the slightest bit of warmth returning, radiating mostly from the inside. For some reason - no, he knew the reason, he just wasn't about to admit it - he found this position comfortable and safe. Like in Pete's arms the entire world could fall to pieces, and he would be just fine where he was now. 

He looked up to meet the older boy's brown eyed gaze and perfectly sculpted, smiling face, but what greeted him was not a snow-filled sky, cloud and cold. It backstage of a concert, the dressing room. And around him was just that - the group's equipment and sundry items brought along, some of importance and the rest merely frivolous. No arms encasing him in pleasant, welcomed heat and a sense of belonging.

"Ten minutes!"

The call startled him and he jumped, spinning to face the doorway and seeing the man's retreating back as he headed off. 

Ten minutes until the show.

"You're quite jumpy tonight, aren't you, Stump?" Pete joked, leaning against the far back wall. 

Patrick let out a long sigh and forced a smile when he looked at Pete, knowing the other could see through it as clear as day. "Just excited, I guess. I heard the crowd is going to be larger than last time."

"Yeah, this ought to be a really good show," Pete agreed. "I hope they're ready for us."

"Of course they are,"

Patrick didn't know how he hadn't seen Joe and Andy lounging on the couch nearby, one staring down at his phone and the other without a shirt. 

"The show already had to be temporarily delayed due to the storm yesterday, the people are probably all going nuts now," said Andy, folding his arms over his chest. "And if you think this venue is large, wait until you see what's planned for next week."

Less than ten minutes.

Patrick stole a secretive glance at Pete, having to force himself to look away so not to be caught staring. 

Less than eight minutes.

Andy and Joe began talking about some new movie coming out that the four of them should all see together, making small talk in order to avoid the rush of excited nervousness that would inevitably find its way to each of their stomachs, feeling like a rush of butterflies had been released inside. 

Less than five minutes.

Patrick found himself staring for longer periods at the man across the room, who appeared completely unaware that he was being watched. Tanned, tattooed skin, fringed and undoubtedly emo hair cut jaggedly and covering half of his face . . . Oh, perfectly unsuspecting of Patrick's peeks and glances until he caught one before Patrick could turn away. And now, with Pete staring him down, Patrick couldn't jerk away. He was frozen, rooted to the spot. Caught, pinned by Pete's composed, smiling eyes. He was numb, couldn't react. Because he knew that Pete knew what he was thinking, and the shared look was enough to convey that Pete was thinking the same things about him. There was a spark between the two of them, and this wasn't the first time it had happened.

One minute.

"Would you two just kiss already?" Joe cut through the silence, staring up at them with partial amusement. "Oh my god, it's so obvious."

Thirty seconds.

And they did kiss. A very short, very passionate kiss, but full of meaning and longing and desire.

Ten seconds, and the four of them were bolting out of the dressing room, sprinting on stage to the awaiting crowds.

Zero seconds.

The stage was pitch black, the lights would turn on at the start of the music, the moment they all got situated at their designated stations. 

The lights came on and they were, to say in the least, blinding.

They weren't flashing, as was expected at the beginning of the setlist, but blinked slowly behind his eyelids. The darkness was disturbed painfully by too-bright lights, nothing like what they were supposed to be. No concert-goers screamed in anticipation, the microphone wasn't positioned in front of him, he wasn't standing on top of the world.

His head lolled to the side, the movement causing a searing pain to race through his nerves and in his veins like fire. He would have gasped if he felt capable, but he couldn't. He didn't have the strength. 

His vision was bleary and foggy and there was pounding that reverberated through his skull, but he struggled to clear the pain and to make sense of what was going on. 

He was on a stretcher, he was being moved in a quick manner, and everything hurt. There wasn't one place on his entire body that didn't ache with sharp, unbearable pain, and no matter how hard he pressed his mind, he could not remember where he was or how he got there. Or anything, really. Except . . .

Pete.

Where was Pete? Why wasn't Pete there, with him? Was Pete okay? Did something happened to him and Pete? And if so, was Pete alright? 

Pete.

"P-P-...ete." 

A gentle but oh-so familiar hand caressed his check, brushed through his hair, and the most wonderful, comforting face came into Patrick's limited line of sight.

"It's okay, Patrick, it's okay," Pete said, repeating himself over and over, moving with the stretcher and never once stumbling. "You're okay. You're okay, 'Trick. I promise. Everything's okay, it's all going to alright. Trust me. Everything is going to be okay. You're going to be okay. I promise."

Using all the strength his body could manage, Patrick nodded and opened his mouth, sensing darkness creeping up and beginning to take over again.

"I-I trust you, P-Pete." A pause. "I-I love y-yo-u, Pete."

Pete's eyes were red and brimmed with tears, but before Patrick fell away into a peaceful, pain-free sleep, he caught the soft words, "I love you too, Patrick."

And he let himself drift away from reality, knowing everything would alright. He believed wholeheartedly what Pete said. 

He was going to be okay.

Because Pete was there with him, and nothing else in the world could have been better.

\---

**Author's Note:**

> The ending is left up to the reader to decide for themselves what happened. That's the entire purpose, the end can be taken however you'd like it to (I hate when I read fics like this, don't ask me why I wrote it XD). I really do hope you enjoyed this! I would love to hear your thoughts on this and I'm open to any constructive criticism! Thank you for reading!


End file.
